


serpentes and other library patrons

by twofrontteethstillcrooked



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Halloween, M/M, is fluffcrack a word?, snippetfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 16:29:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12536112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofrontteethstillcrooked/pseuds/twofrontteethstillcrooked
Summary: The project formerly called Renovation of the Reference Section had come to be known, in Flint's mind, as Outdated Encyclopedias, Ancient Microfilm, and You: A 13-Week Story of Despair from the Second Floor, East Wing.





	serpentes and other library patrons

**Author's Note:**

> me: hey brain let's work on some post-series canon era fic
> 
> me: let's think about all the weighty complexity and richness of these characters and their relationship(s), not even to mention the tremendously interesting historical context--
> 
> me, stuffing five pumpkin-shaped cookies in my mouth: what if modern flint and silver worked at a public library and it was October??
> 
> +
> 
> mega thanks, as always, to the awesome [clenster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clenster/pseuds/clenster) for idea bouncing and cheerleading *mwa!*

The project formerly called Renovation of the Reference Section had come to be known, in Flint's mind, as Outdated Encyclopedias, Ancient Microfilm, and You: A 13-Week Story of Despair from the Second Floor, East Wing. He was channeling all the angst acquired in the experience to hang chains from newly installed hooks on the battered ceiling. To random links in the chains, with thin, frayed ropes, he tied a family of bats, spiders, and snakes -- all rubber yet, save the beady red eyes, realistic enough to disturb. 

He hopped off the ladder and surveyed the suspended carnage. The vermin were illuminated here and there by white ghost lights. In one corner a pirate skeleton, complete with tattered tricorne and eyepatch and black flag wedged between its knuckles, had been strung up. The skeleton's bones rattled when the HVAC kicked on and off, and its skull's blackened teeth sometimes seemed to lengthen and contract in a silent laugh. The pirate had arrived in a rusty cage Flint had discarded, for reasons, had anyone asked, he wouldn't be able to explain; it had simply felt like the right thing to do.

"You've missed your calling," Silver said from the doorway.

Flint hefted up a plastic jack o' lantern and started wedging it into a gap between dusty folders and obsolete Ibbotson yearbooks on one of the nearby bookcases that had been half dismantled.

"What calling would that be?" He flung the cord toward Silver. "Is there an outlet over there?"

"Aye, aye, captain." Silver slid his messenger bag off his shoulder and let it drop to the floor. He carefully squatted, grabbed the plug, and shoved a box of trash out of the way to uncover the outlet behind it. When he plugged in the jack o' lantern, Flint, surprised, stepped back: the pumpkin glowed less orange than streaky red, with a yellowing, devilish grin slashed into its face. For whatever stupid reason the sight of it made Flint's skin crawl.

"That looks good there. I meant, you have a knack for Halloween," Silver explained.

"Ah." Flint schooled his expression into something neutral. "I don't actually, I'm just." He waved a hand around. "Improvising."

Silver straightened up with some difficulty, hand braced on the wall. When he could he took another few steps into the room. He reached up to set a low-hanging bat swinging and said, "Do you need any assistance?"

"No, not tonight," Flint said. "This is all there is currently. The rest of the decorations are in storage until Friday." 

Silver hummed. He pointed at the gigantic gash in the wall furthest from the door. "Has someone decided that's safe for kids to walk through?"

"Vane says it's not a problem." 

Silver's right eyebrow went up. "Say what you will about Vane as a renovator or even a human being, but his enthusiasm with a sledgehammer is downright aspirational."

"Too bad the board has less passion for writing checks to get this whole bloody project wrapped up."

Silver smiled.

"What?" Flint said. He was faintly annoyed with himself at how quickly he returned the smile.

"Bloody," Silver said in a deep, faux-malevolent voice. 

"There aren't any exposed wires, pipes, or insulation, nothing's asbestos, and we vacuumed up the drywall dust. So now it's just a giant gaping hole. Like my soul and operating budget," Flint said, aware his melodrama was unnecessary and also that Silver would find it amusing.

"So, how will this work?" Silver asked.

Flint paused for a moment as his stomach dropped. "Our, uh--"

"Will those of us in costume be in here handing out candy, or is this just a room the kids have to traverse before entering the promised land over there the hard way?"

Flint's stomach recovered. "The trick or treating is all over the library, but there's a path. Usually starts at the circulation desk, new books, CDs and videos, winds around to computers and homework resources -- hello -- and print media, back to children and young adults, over to fiction, up the stairs to non-fiction, the art gallery, state room, auditorium, job center -- that's also you, you need a twin -- and they'll walk through here, through the hole, and Reference'll be decorated over there in some other variation on a theme. The last volunteers will be in there with punch and cookies and two million Twizzlers, or whatever."

Flint didn't want to say: If one single kid splashes Kool-Aid on any part of my brand new hard won almost finished Reference department, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth. But he definitely entertained the thought.

Silver asked, "How much has the library invested in Halloween decor?"

"You weren't here last year, but one of our patrons, Mr. Wheezer, willed us a garage full of crap when he passed."

"His name could not possibly have been Mr. Wheezer."

"It should have been."

Silver leaned against a bookcase of dubious sturdiness. "So you don't like Halloween," he said, in a way that made it seem like he'd figured out something important about Flint.

"I don't mind Halloween." Silver's suspicious eyebrow made a return appearance. "I don't," Flint said, "but this is about as much Halloween anything as I'm interested in."

"Not even one of those ghost runs the historical society holds in the old mansions down by the water? I've heard those are interesting, though you might be bored; I bet you know the local lore better than they do. Or there's that haunted boat, it's popular."

"Ye Olde Spooky Murder Ship."

"That's the one."

"No," Flint said shortly.

A wheedling look had come into Silver's eyes. It was terrifying for reasons Flint was not capable of explaining in public, even though they were the only people left in the building at 9:17 p.m. on a Wednesday. "Whatever you're thinking, the answer's no."

Silver cocked his head. "I'm merely wondering what a sturdy, serious person such as yourself would have to fear from a haunted ship. I'm putting the word haunted in scare quotes, obviously. No pun intended."

Flint tried to not smile at Silver's flattery or puns; he did not want to encourage either of them.

"Is it the phony rot? The recorded screams? The strobe lighting, the piped-in organ music?" Silver lowered his voice. "Not knowing for certain what you might see as you ease down a stairwell or climb into a claustrophobic hatch? The loss of control?" He leaned closer. "The employee dressed as Jack Sparrow brandishing a fake cutlass?"

"Okay, see, here's the thing," Flint decided to say. In for a penny, in for a pound. "I'm not worried about employee Jack. I'm worried about random sociopath Jack wandering up off the street dressed like literally anybody but wielding an actual cutlass, and he's already diced up a dozen paying customers and tossed them into the bay before anyone at Ye Olde realizes, hey, that's not a seasonal hire, he's a legitimate lunatic."

Silver's eyes went very wide. "Well that was dark. You're genuinely worried that could happen?"

"I didn't say it was a rational fear. But the world's a scary place sometimes."

"Wow," Silver exhaled. His weirded-out expression cleared. There was a softness in his face now that should probably have been terrifying as well. "When they bring in the decorations Friday, let me know. I'll come help you set up the rest of the stuff in here."

"It's not--"

"Halloween bothers you." Silver shrugged. "I can help."

"Well. Thanks." Flint let himself lean against the bookcase, though it groaned from his and Silver's collective weight.

"So," Silver said after a small cough. "It's okay here...if this is a thing." It wasn't entirely a statement.

For once Flint retaliated with his own animated eyebrow. 

"Us," Silver clarified. "Being. An us." 

A still-new warmth bloomed again in Flint's chest. He inched closer to Silver. "I don't work for you, you don't work for me. It shouldn't be a problem." 

"Okay. Just checking. Belatedly." Silver looked down and bit his lip. "We do work together, though, pretty often. These days."

Coworkers to friends to more -- it was not a guaranteed path of success, Flint knew. And maybe, if the outcome was particularly gruesome, a job search lay on the other end of it. But he also knew he hadn't felt so much _more_ with anyone in a long time. "I'll take my chances," he said, inching ever closer.

Silver looked over at him, eyes dark and wicked, and opened his mouth to say something. Before he could, he happened to glance up and a realization crossed his features. 

When the loose snake fell on Silver's head Silver didn't have time to panic, or react in any additional way whatsoever, because before he could Flint used up all the panic in the universe to fling the snake off with enough force the fucking fake serpent soared all the way through the fucking hole in the wall into the new section of Reference, where it landed on a tall stack of antique atlases and then slithered off the other side, out of sight. 

Silver sank to the floor, laughing so hard he cried for a solid minute. After recovering from the minor heart attack Flint joined him on the floor, for moral support.

"Your face, oh god," Silver said through the last of the tears, wiping his eyes and leaning into Flint. "My brave hero, my snake-slayer, o captain my captain."

"You shit," Flint said, before shutting him up with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> the loose snake was named dooley y/n?


End file.
